Pas de Deux Act II
by badomens
Summary: When Flynn is scouted by a major league team, Yuri and Flynn's unresolved feelings and insecurities threaten to tear them apart. Follow up to Pas de Deux.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I've been sitting on this follow up for years now, so here it finally is. It's 3 parts total that I will be posting today, Friday the 22nd, and Saturday the 23rd. The very last (planned) Encore will be going up the 24th to round out the series at this time. Thanks for reading and sticking with me during my dry spells.

* * *

His focus was fixed, the goal ahead of him, and the goalie waiting to intercept. The goalie must have thought his defenses were flawless, impervious to any attack, but Flynn could see the opening. The goalie's left leg was the less steady so he overcompensated with his right. If he needed to move suddenly, if Flynn could manage the feint, he could score. And if they could score, the Knights would be capable of an overwhelming victory against the Dragoons.

He shot left. Hachette dodged one of the opposing team, ricocheting the puck off his stick and to LeBlanc. Rammed hard into the glass a second later, LeBlanc shot it back to Flynn, who had skidded in close enough to the goal to line up his shot. A pair of the Dragoons tried to intercept, but it was too late. Flynn was already following through with his first swing, and sliding forward to dodge them. Just as he had expected, as he feinted left, and the goalie moved to far to overcompensate for his leg. It gave Flynn the edge he need, the sparse seconds and the barest inches of space.

One good slap was all took to send the puck careening into the goal, hitting the net so hard that it bounced backward. The siren buzzed in their favor and the shouting that came over the stadium between the spectators and the announcer signaled their win.

It was a victory, and a welcome one that added another tally mark to the Zaphias Knight's ever growing streak. They had rough games, they lost, but overwhelmingly, they were a forced to be reckoned with and that fact wasn't lost among the opponents they had faced and those that they would in the future. It was something to look forward to.

But winning wasn't really what Flynn cared about. Oh, he liked it. Even loved it. The cheer of the crowd and that praise, but it was the game itself, the rush it gave him, the thrill that sang in his blood like a war cry when he played. He played for that. Winning was a bonus, and a bonus that the Knights were enjoying. They never would have made it to the semi-finals of the state championship without it. And with it, they might go even further. All in all, things were looking up for the formerly struggling minor league team.

The hot shower that followed brought him back down out of the high he experienced when he played and allowed him to feel a little more comfortable in the skin that was his own after being pure energy on the ice.

It was a pity that Yuri hadn't been able to make it to the away game. He made it to as many of them as he possibly could, but it couldn't be avoided this time. The Halure Dance Troupe was in the midst of practice for the next big show, although Flynn hadn't been able to learn exactly which ballet they would be doing next. Whatever it was though, Flynn was looking forward to it. And he was looking forward to getting home.

"Hey, Flynn!" LeBlanc called across the locker room. "Someone's here to see you!"

His heart jumped, fumbling over a slew of beats. Had Yuri made it after all? It wasn't the first time he had showed up unexpectedly during an away game, but it was always welcome.

He slammed his locker a little too hard and moved a little too quickly to not seem excited. Of course he was. No doubt any of his teammates would have felt the same in their loved ones showed up unexpectedly.

He passed the last row of lockers and his hurried steps came to a cold, stunned standstill. It was not Yuri. He sunk at the sight of two older men that he had never met before, but squared himself instantly in their presence.

"Are you Scifo?" The first asked.

"Yes, sir."

The man reached out and shook his hand. "I'm George Bryant, owner of the Slyvanrant Rhyards. This is Alden Warner, the team's coach. We have a proposition for you."

* * *

The Slyvarant Rhyards were a championship team, and more importantly, a major league team. The proposition they had offered Flynn was hard to ignore, and harder not to be interested in. The major leagues were serious business and the goal to which all minor league players aspired. Flynn was no different. The offer was impossible to deny, and he didn't. They did allow him time to think about it, and he had been since the moment he walked back into the locker room to the encouragement of his teammates.

The unexpected meeting left his brain brimming with possibilities, the advantages of which were hard to ignore.

Playing in the major leagues meant a broader range of teams to play against, a raise in his pay that was high enough to seem surreal in comparison to what he made now. It could mean fame and fortune, and playing with, and against, some of the most talented people in the sport. It would also mean moving.

Zaphias was comfortable and homey and Slyvarant was big and sprawling and foreign. But Zaphias had felt that way once before. That was before Yuri.

What would he have to say when Flynn told him? How would he react? Some months ago, he had been offered something similar, so it might not even come as a surprise. Yuri hadn't taken his opportunity, and gave flimsy excuses as to why, but never elaborated further. Flynn was taking this seriously.

He didn't like the prospect of leaving Yuri behind and attempting a long distance relationship. Zaphias felt like home because of Yuri, so maybe Slyvarant would, too. He hadn't thought much before on asking Yuri to move in with him. Yuri practically lived there anyway, and had a key so he could come and go as he pleased. The next step was making it official, and this could be the chance for that.

While in Slyvarant, before the team took the bus home, Flynn took a day to tour the city. It was nice enough, maybe not as clean as Zaphias, but respectable in its own way. With the idea of he and Yuri both moving here, Flynn looked at living costs and grabbed apartment guides. He even spoke to the director of a local dance troupe about the possibility of Yuri moving. Overall, this was promising and Flynn couldn't keep his mind off the matter during the whole bus ride back to Zaphias. He would have to bring Yuri along to tour. He was already planning it, but he wanted it to be a surprised. He wanted just the right time to break the news to Yuri.

Flynn texted Yuri as soon as he got back into town. It was late now, so he might have been asleep.

[I just got in. Are you up?]

It was a few minutes before a reply came. Flynn put away his travel bag and began thinking that Yuri was probably long asleep at this late hour, until the chime on his phone rang out through the silence of his apartment.

[At practice.]

[Still?]

[Never played this role before]

[Oh. Would you be up for a late night dinner afterward?] He hesitated in asking that, because the excitement bubbling up inside of him would have made keeping his secretly nearly impossible. It would have to come out.

[Sorry. Don't know when I'll be done. How was your game?] He must have been very busy prepping for the new show this late at night. He practiced hard and frequently, and he danced every role perfectly. Yuri was no stranger to late nights when he felt a dance needed work. He was certainly dedicated.

[Great. I'll tell you all about it later.]

[Don't wait up for me.]

A smile tugged at Flynn's lips as he typed in the reply. Three simple little words that so perfectly described how he felt. [I love you.]

[Good night.] The answer he wanted never came, but it didn't bother him now.

With the possibilities singing in his brain, bubbling over and pouring out and overwhelming his every nerve like a flood, it was nearly impossible to sleep. The thought was terrifying and wonderful, nerve-wracking and exciting. The next morning did little to dull his enthusiasm, even waking alone. It was nothing unusual for Yuri to return to his own apartment after a long night of practice rather than come to Flynn's. That could change.

He texted Yuri again. The proposition of a date, a nice dinner out together. Tolbyccia Pizza was their usual haunt, but this called for something a nicer. Between their busy schedules, they didn't often have a chance for a finer meal. When Yuri texted back, they agreed on a time and a place. Flynn couldn't say that he wasn't nervous about breaking the news, but he hoped that it was merely excitement in disguise. He had no idea how Yuri would react to the news, but he was hopeful, and that hope drove him for the rest of the day.

* * *

Why Flynn wanted a fancy dinner out, Yuri couldn't guess, but it was going to be a nice change of pace from their usual, not that he ever got sick of Don's pizza. Yuri even bothered to dress up, even though the button up shirt and blazer felt more restrictive than his skin tight dance clothing. The tie felt like it was strangling him, but he put up with it anyway. With the way their dates usually went, it would end up being used for more than wearing later on.

Flynn picked him up and went then together to one of fine dining restaurants that dotted Zaphias's downtown area. The car ride was strangely quiet, Flynn's eyes fixed hard on the city streets before him and his fingers drumming nervously against the steering wheel. The press of his foot on the brake, and then the shift to gas a little too sudden, not at all as smooth as they usually were.

Even after being being seated, Flynn was still fidgeting, a ball of nervous energy across the table. If it wasn't the anxious twitch of his fingers over the tablecloth, it was the nervous rocking of his leg just beneath the table. By the time their soup arrived, Yuri couldn't handle it anymore and just asked.

"So what's with the sudden interest in fine dining?"

"N-Nothing. I mean, we don't usually come to a place like this. I thought it would be a nice change."

Yuri didn't take that at face value, but waited a moment before proceeding with his line of questioning. "Seriously. What's going on?"

Flynn bit his lower lip, something he only did when he was nervous. If he thought that Yuri couldn't read his body language after all these months, and all their intimacy, he was wrong.

He smiled a little, a better sign than a grave look. "Our away game went well. Really well... So well that the owner of the Slyvarant Rhyards wants to sign me."

Yuri had to forcibly stop himself from dropping his spoon in surprise.

"They're offering me a chance at the major leagues. It would mean moving-" he didn't stop talking, but Yuri stopped listening.

His heart stopped, cold and unable to move in his chest, frozen with a strange panic and fear that flooded his ears and veins. His mouth dried out completely and he found himself guzzling down his water to quench the nervous thirst that filled him. He couldn't panic. He had always known this would happen anyway.

"-and I want you to come with me."

"What?"

"I want you to come with me. To Slyvarant."

His words dried up as quickly as his mouth had.

"There's a really famous troupe there and they even agreed to let you audition and I think that this could be really good for the both of us and well, I guess what I'm trying to say is... I think we should move in together."

There was silence. Was he waiting for a reaction for Yuri? Yuri didn't know what to do or say. There was certainly no appropriate word to explain what he was feeling and if there was, it was too gentle for the harshness that rocked him. He put on a calm face, but when he didn't speak, Flynn continued.

"I don't want to rush things. I'm just putting the idea out there and I haven't decided definitely on anything yet."

"This is... sudden." He finally managed, but it wasn't an answer or a real response.

"I know, but we've got some time to think about it. I've been invited back for a proper tryout next weekend." Flynn's hand reached across the table and fell over his. The tender shock sunk deep. "I'd really like it if you came with me."

His appetite was gone and his stomach wound in knots. Conflicted was not a strong enough word to describe how he felt. There was no need to be panicked. This was bound to happen. This was inevitable. Flynn had bigger and better prospects ahead of him, but why he seemed so keen on dragging Yuri along, was a mystery.

"So, what do you say?"

"Sure."

He wished that he could have stopped himself from saying that, but the brightness in Flynn's eyes was radiant and Yuri couldn't bear to look at him anymore. There was no reason for him to feel so awful about this news. Maybe the trip would change his mind. Maybe Yuri could finally find himself being open and honest. Maybe.

* * *

A few days hadn't eased his worry, even while immersed in the steps of the Halure Dance Troupe's newest production. _Persephone_ was a lesser known ballet, and as always, the director chose to use her own take on the story. Yuri didn't care much one way or another. He was just glad that they were done with _Romeo and Juliet_. The part of Hades was one he hadn't played before, so the distraction of practice at least allowed him to pull away from the shock of Flynn's news and think about it clearly. But no amount of dancing was able to make it leave his mind completely. It remained as a dark pool in the very back of his mind, just waiting for the moment when he would stop and it could attempt to sink him once more.

Flynn had already had his heart set on going, on leaving. Yuri could see it in his eyes, filled with the dreams that would come with his bright future. And it was radiant like the sun, like Flynn himself, and that brightness reduced Yuri to a fading shadow.

Yuri's mind was already set, too, even before the trip. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. He had made that decision once before and Flynn hadn't had any bearing on it then and he sure as hell didn't now. But he had still agreed to the trip to Slyvarant, to the place that Flynn would go to. It couldn't hurt to see that which was going to pull Flynn away.

With no one else to talk to about it, and the need to get it off his chest burning holes in him, he confided in Estelle. It was a mistake. Bottling it up inside would have been better. Once he told her everything, she was only supportive and enthusiastic.

"That's so exciting, Yuri!" Estelle said over her cup of tea. "You could be famous in a city like Slyvarant."

"Yeah, I guess." He didn't _care_ about fame. If he had, than he would have just accepted the offer months earlier from Yeager, the talent scout from the famous Dahngrest ballet.

Flynn had nearly begged him to stay once before, and now he was the one on the other side, the one with bigger and better prospects ahead of him and with nothing to lose.

"And Flynn's already scheduled you an audition with the biggest troupe in Slyvarant. They put on the biggest, most expensive productions I've ever seen. Imagine what they could pay you, what they could offer you."

It wasn't like he hadn't. But he wasn't in dance for the money. He _liked_ the struggling little troupe he worked for, with it's interesting and diverse productions.

"But those aren't really reasons that you care about." She was unnecessarily astute at times.

"Not really."

"If not those things, Flynn then? I know he wouldn't have asked you if he wasn't absolutely serious."

"It... it's not that. It has nothing to do with Flynn." It had everything to do with Flynn no matter what Yuri said and they both knew it.

She let out a soft, sort of discontented sigh, blowing steam away from her tea in the same breath. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." That was a lie also. His mind was made up.

"Maybe you'll change your mind when you're actually there. It's a great opportunity for the both of you." She was trying to help. "It can't hurt to go and look." She didn't understand. She didn't know.

"I suppose." Another lie.

"It'll be okay."

When he couldn't reply, Estelle let it rest at that and eventually had to leave him alone once more. The gym was his next destination. Pounding the sandbag, the fire it ignited in his muscles, maybe that could burn away this... whatever it was. He was done feeling like this. It was stupid and wrong and annoying and painful. It's not like Flynn was abandoning him. Why did it feel like that? Flynn wanted to _live_ with him. Flynn wanted more than what they already had. Flynn wanted things that Yuri couldn't give him, no matter how hard he tried.

When the flame of his energy finally burned out, he felt no better. But Estelle had been right. It couldn't hurt to go. There was no harm in entertaining these ideas, the notion that maybe this could work, that maybe this was right, that maybe he deserved to be happy. It was too late to back out now. He had already taken the weekend off and packed and Flynn had already booked them hotel reservations. He could handle this, even if his mind was set. How bad could it be? There was no reason for him to be so concerned. Things were different now and Flynn actually _wanted_ to be with him. Flynn may have even-

Yuri stopped himself there. Flynn said it often, that thorny, three word phrase that reopened old wounds and scratched in new scars. Those oppressively hot and unfair words threatened to smother him. Those weapons were too strong for Yuri to fend off.

When it was said and done, he returned home, to the quiet cold of his own bed without Flynn's warmth and words there. This place was nearly alien now. He barely knew it. Dust covered surfaces before kept clean. The shower was bone dry. So many of his nights were spend in Flynn's bed, in his arms, and that made all of this sting even more.

* * *

The car was packed with his own bags and he had the hotel papers in hand. Even though the drive was a long one, he was looking forward to it, to the prospect that lay ahead in Slyvarant for him, for Yuri, for both of them.

Yuri had been too busy with practice in the days before the trip for the two of them to discuss plans for their future and the possibility of Slyvarant. Even the very night before their departure, he practiced late and told Flynn not to wait up for him. That was easier said that done, as sleep proved elusive with the trip and the destination and the future at the forefront of Flynn's mind, driving out all else. He wished they had had time to talk about the trip at least the night before, instead of all the thoughts brewing in Flynn's brain making him feel restless and senseless and crazed. But he got into the car and drove to pick up Yuri at his own apartment.

He was waiting out front, his single, beaten up black suitcase at his feet, watching the road listlessly as Flynn pulled into the first available parking spot. Yuri was pulling open the trunk and tossing his bag in unceremoniously before Flynn could even get out of the car, but he caught him just as Yuri was about to slam the hatch closed.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long."

It was a few seconds before Yuri spoke, glancing at him. "No."

"Do we need to pick up anything last minute before we leave town?"

"I'm good."

Flynn resisted asking again. It was just his nerves making it difficult for him to be sure that he hadn't forgotten anything. He let a little sigh escape his lips, a breath of relief. Everything was going to be fine. They were doing this. They were doing this together.

Yuri started around the car, but Flynn stopped him again, pulling him closer by the wrist. He managed a brief kiss before pulling away, a smile on his lips where Yuri's had just been. "I'm glad we're doing this."

Yuri didn't smile.

"Is everything okay?" Worry knotted up his stomach, squeezing like a vice.

A slight shake of his head as if startled, brought Yuri's attention back up. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I'm just tired after last night's practice."

Flynn eased, letting his hand slide from Yuri's wrist down, and curling their fingers together. The warmth of Yuri's hand in his sparked against his fingertips. This was really happening. "It's a pretty long drive there, so you can relax and nap while we're on the road."

"Thanks," Yuri pulled back after a second, brushing his hair back with the hand that left the lingering warmth in Flynn's hand, "I might just take you up on that."

"Let's get on the road then. Check in is at four and I want us to have plenty of time to relax before tomorrow." The simplest thought of what the next day's dawning would bring jumbled up his innards again, but with excitement rather than worry. He had their entire weekend mostly planned, but that hadn't made the nervousness ease.

Yuri slid into the car and Flynn a moment later on the driver's side. He took one last, deep breathe of the air of Zaphias before starting the car and getting on the road.

* * *

It was a five hour drive. He honestly hoped that sleep would take hold with the rocking of Flynn's car across the pavement and the soft hum of his radio, but the hours slipped by with barely a nap. He tried, squeezing his eyes closed and forcing his body at rest, and it would take hold for a moment or two, and then his consciousness would be back in full force.

Scenery zipped by at sixty, seventy miles per hour. Blurs of green and black, expanses of forest and pavement abbreviated by stark blue road signs. Three hundred miles. Two hundred fifty four. One hundred and ninety four. One hundred and twenty eight. Seventy three. Forty two. Twenty seven. Fifteen. Five. They pulled off the highway and Yuri felt his lungs seize.

The city of Slyvarant engulfed them, surrounding them on all sides with gridlocked traffic and smog and densely packed steel and stone and glass buildings that rose to the sky. Zaphias was a big city with thousands of buildings and millions of people, but even it dwarfed in comparison to the metropolis that was Slyvarant. The honking and screeching and back and forth stopping and starting made further sleep impossible even when they weren't actively going anywhere so Yuri resigned himself to staring out the window into the narrow streets of traffic and electric billboards. Flynn's spirits hadn't dampened at all. Yuri's had never risen.

It was another hour of stop and go traffic before they made it anywhere. Flynn pointed out a few landmarks as they went, the stadium, a real one, where he was going the next morning for his try out, the park, public works, and monumental corporate buildings. Finally, they got to the hotel, another tower of shimmering glass and lights in the afternoon sun. Yuri was instantly glad to be out of the car and able to stretch his legs, but the plush carpeted and marble tile lined halls of the hotel weren't much comfort. He and his beaten up suitcase were regarded suspiciously by the bellhop as he unloaded their bags and took their keys to get the car parked.

He suppressed a shudder as Flynn took his hand. The sparks of static that flew made him pull away, his cool fingers slipping out of the warmth of Flynn's hands. Taking one of the bags of hockey equipment in hand, he didn't wait for Flynn to question him about the sudden motion. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong.

Yuri loafed around the lobby while Flynn got them checked in. The piano tinkling over the intercom was starting to grate on his nerves when Flynn made it back and they took the glass and gilded steel elevator up in silence. Flynn touched him again, those finger tips sending jolts of electricity over the back of his hand, through paper thin skin, and against his already jostled nerves. Yuri held firm, even as Flynn stole a sideways glance at him. He couldn't look him in the eye, so he pretended not to notice. This lasted a dozen or so floors before the elevator stopped and the disembarked.

Their room was at the end of the hall. The door opened to a spacious and meticulously decorated suite, furnished in gold and green, with floor to ceiling glass windows that gave a view overlooking the whole city.

He didn't remember putting the bags down and moving to the window, but he was suddenly there, the tips of his fingers against the cool glass and his eyes gazing out to the horizon dotted endlessly with buildings and signs and hazed with the layer of smog that covered the city. What did Flynn see in this place? Was it more than just a job opportunity? What about this buzzing and busy, grimy and crowded city drew him in, made the prospect of moving here, of him leaving, painfully real? What part of him no longer wanted Zaphias and what it had to offer? Yuri hadn't been in this place a full day and he didn't like it.

The warmth of Flynn's arms around him, of his body pressed against Yuri's back, drew him back into reality. His face and breath were hot against his neck, nestled there affectionately.

"I love you."

That vine tightened, cradling as solidly as Flynn's arms did, spotted and sharp with thorns. The ache in his chest squeezed, drawing out his breath. If only he had never gotten his hopes up, then this would never have to hurt. If only he had never had a heart at all.

Flynn drew him away from the window, away from the harshness of the outside world, and pulled the curtains close with the ease that Yuri wished he had been able to use to separate himself from it. Strength and confidence in his limbs, he pulled Yuri in, an embrace so hot, so tender that he felt himself dissolving away. He needed solidness, he needed a world ground in reality and concrete, and world of black and white without emotional grey areas that trembled in his chest and built a wall around his heart. Not the emotional, but the physical, the pain and the pleasure, the fire and the flood of it to wash away all of this. He needed Flynn, and for a little while, at least this one last night, he could have him.


	2. Chapter 2

Hockey never held an interest for him, but watching Flynn play was different. Flynn was sharp and fast, a powerhouse on the ice. He was passionate about playing. He loved the sport. There was nothing that he talked about more, and Yuri always did his best to listen. It was something Flynn cared about, and that was good enough to make Yuri care. But perhaps he cared too much. Flynn had asked him to come, and Yuri hadn't been able to turn him down. They had come all this way with Flynn's hopes still in the air, still on this dream of his.

He made it to every game he possibly could, just as Flynn made it to as many performances. And here Yuri was now, watching Flynn try out on foreign ice, in front of a slew of people neither of them knew. Yuri hadn't even bothered to be introduced. That was his choice. Flynn tried to insist, but it was better this way. Especially with the voices of several members of the Rhyards coming over the stands toward were Yuri sat, a few sections over.

"He's good. No doubt about that."

Yuri felt himself smile a little at that, but continued chatter was off putting and unnerving, even as he tried to ignore it.

"What about that guy he brought with him?"

"Long hair?"

"Yeah. Over there."

Those dumbasses didn't even realize that Yuri could hear them, and if they did, they didn't care.

"Could be a friend."

"Friend with benefits maybe. Come on, Long Hair walks like a fag."

The fire that crept up Yuri's throat was barely repressed. He had heard it all before, the slurs and swears, the rumors and the stereotypes. High school had come and gone and this was the real world and these people were still acting like gossipy teenagers like this was their business. They had to see past that, though. Flynn was too good a player for them to disregard him for something that he couldn't change. At least that's what Yuri thought. He also thought about what that could mean for Flynn. These players didn't sound nearly as tolerant as the Knights were, who had welcomed Flynn even after coming out, and who extended the term of family to Yuri also.

Yuri hunkered down and ignored as best he could further gossiping. But ignoring was hard to do when his brain was keyed into those words, listening for the slightest hint of what they might have thought of Flynn, what their judgment of him was, a judgment made because Yuri was here. If he hadn't come, they wouldn't have had to know. They would have never given Flynn being gay a second thought.

Further whispers passed between them, just loud enough for Yuri to hear. Stinging words and euphemisms, sick jokes and assumptions. All he could do now was focus on Flynn, showing off his talent on the ice before those who judged him for something that would never affect his playing. All he could do was focus and hope. Hope that he hadn't fucked this up for Flynn.

For an hour, they had Flynn take shots at goals and go head to head against members of the team. He held his own. Yuri hadn't been worried about that. The gossip from the others had eventually died down and he waited at the stadium's exit, well away from Flynn and the team for Flynn to finish his business. It was another ten minutes before he emerged from the locker room, wiping sweat from his brow, smiling.

"They were impressed." He was nearly glowing.

"They had every reason to be. You're a great player."

"Thanks for coming with me."

"So when will you know for sure?"

"A few days probably. Maybe a week."

Of course it wouldn't be long. Yuri hadn't thought that it could be that short of a time before he had a concrete answer. If the manager of the Slyvarant Rhyards was smart, he would sign Flynn as soon as possible, before another major league team came along to do the job. Once he was in the big leagues, teams were going to be fighting for him, and the team that debuted him, would get the recognition for it.

"Were you ready to go ahead and do your audition?"

Yuri had tried to forget about it, but the thought weighed in the back of his mind. He was going to have to get it over with. He figured that he was already well rehearsed on Hades from _Persephone_ , so those steps would work well enough. It's not like he was actually going to try. He was just going through the motions to satisfy Flynn. After all, he was the one who set up the audition on the pretense of them moving here together. But a single night in the city had cemented what Yuri had been feeling all along: Slyvarant was not for him.

"Yeah. Let's go." He tried not to sound disinterested. There was no point raining on Flynn's parade now. He was the one with hope and promise here.

It was another hour in gridlocked traffic. That was something else he hated. Zaphias was bustling and busy in its own way, but this was too much.

The studio for Slyvarant Dance was in the art district of downtown. From the look of the outside, it was an renovated warehouse, scaled up and built upon to give it the air of distinction and class. The enormous glass windows gave them a clear view of the dancers within, all clad in dark purple and practicing tight and perfect maneuvers. This was a place where people who danced their whole lives, people who dedicated every fiber of their being to ballet, performed.

The knot in his throat was impossible to swallow as they entered and were greeted in the foyer by a tall, lithe man, lean of face and limb, whose form, although aged, still portrayed that of a dancer once at his peak. He gave Yuri a sideways glance, shifty and unimpressed over the gilded rim of his glasses, and Yuri knew instantly that this was a mistake.

"You must be Yuri Lowell."

"Yeah. That's me."

"Your, ahem, friend here told me much about you. We do have a interview before auditions. I trust that won't be an issue for someone of your apparent skill."

"Whatever." He wasn't trying to impress anyone.

"We'll conduct it during a tour if that is satisfactory."

"Fine by me."

They started down the hall leading out of the foyer, Flynn following behind him, passing by numerous rooms lined with mirrors and balance bars with perfectly poised and practiced dancers warming up or going over steps.

"Did you attend school?"

"Yes."

"Where?" It was the answer he wanted in the first place.

"The Governor's School. And then Kelvin College of Art."

The director nodded, but did not seem impressed. "Nearly all of our dancers have graduated top of class from Saint Yulia."

"That's great. Real impressive." He couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he had tried.

"How long have you been dancing?"

"Eight years."

"Are you currently with a troupe?"

"The Halure Dance Troupe in Zaphias."

"I see." There was an unpleasant sneer to his voice that made Yuri want to punch this guy. "What productions and roles have you participated in the last year?"

Next thing the director was likely to ask for was a pedigree. Yuri wasn't a show dog, but he had bite to back up his bark. Yuri began listing off his roles anyway, "Title role, Othello. Title role, Dracula. Title role, Romeo and Juliet. Zuniga, Carmen. Loys, Giselle. Title role, The Nutcracker. Odile, Swan Lake. And currently working on Hades for Persephone."

It was hard to him to deny that those were venerated roles that required a dancer of a certain caliber. Yuri waited for further questions on the subject, but only one more came.

"I think that's quite enough for the interview. Would you do us the honor of a dance?"

He turned and extended his hand into a room void of other dancers, save one. But that one was enough for Yuri, and more than enough to tense his limbs in rage. He had hoped that he would never have to see that smug face once he finished out his high school dance training.

Here was Alexander Cumore, still as arrogant as ever, finishing off a step that seemed difficult to most onlookers, but was, in fact, quite basic. He added his own little flair to make it seem different and special, but over extension and being too showy were big faults of his. Yuri didn't envy anyone who may have had the misfortune of dancing with him, whether the role be the lead or a background part. No doubt that in spite of not being the prima ballerina, he still acted like it. Tens of thousands of dollars of tuition to one of the best dance schools in the nation often inflated egos like that. Cumore's had been running away with him for years before that.

"Well, if it isn't Yuri Lowell. My, it has been a long time." The nasally strain of his voice grated on Yuri's ears. It hadn't been a long enough time from Yuri's point of view.

"Cumore." He did his best to loosen up. There was no way he was going to be able to dance confidently if he wasn't in the right frame of mind. "I wish it had been longer. I would have preferred never."

"Just like on the question of when you'll be a dancer worth all the time those instructors wasted on you?"

He heard Flynn let out a tiny gasp, the sharp inhale of breath that marked his surprise, but Yuri didn't let the insult get to him. He had endured much worse. Four years at the high school level had taught him how best to deal with Alexander Cumore. It wasn't about getting into this stupid elitist troupe. This was about proving Cumore wrong and Cumore was just as eager to do the same to him.

Yuri stretched on his step backward, drawing his arms across his torso to pop his shoulders. He took his bag from Flynn and replaced his sneakers with his slippers. He was going to do this and do it right. The main question now was _what_ was he going to do?

There were many steps that he could use here. Basic, intermediate, advanced, and Cumore knew all of them as well. It was no secret as to which dance he would do. Nothing but the best and the biggest and the flashiest for Alexander Cumore. Siegfried's solo from act III of Swan Lake had always been one of Cumore's favorites.

"I will go first." Those words had barely passed those lips that were several shades too pink for that pale face and Cumore was at the center of the floor.

Leaps and entrechats and spins and fouettes. Yuri couldn't doubt that Cumore's training at St. Yulia hadn't been worth every penny. He was a good dancer, even a great dancer, no matter how hard it was to admit that. His downfall was completely in his arrogance. If he decided one day to take a leap too high, or perform too quickly, the resulting injury could - well, Yuri didn't want to start thinking about that. It was too much liking _hoping_ for it.

Cumore could have danced the solo blindfolded. He would have been a great dancer if he had ever gotten his head out of his ass. But his performance here was flawless, probably even better than usual because he had a grander goal in mind. He wasn't simply dancing. He was here to show Yuri up, to prove himself better, to prove that money and status bought talent. And in the eyes of these people, those things were the truth.

Even with his grandstanding and need to embellish the dance, Cumore finished quickly, and turned his crimson eyes at Yuri, watching and waiting for his move, for whatever dance he might display. By this time, the walls of the room were crowded with performers from other rooms, come to watch their male lead triumph and for him to fail.

He strode forward and took his start position. With a wave of his hand, he called to one of the line girls, who briefly panicked but came to him anyway. He needed a partner for this who wasn't going to distract him, and her unobtrusive presence would be perfect.

 _Carmen_ was far from his favorite of the classics, but he knew it well enough for the piece that he chose. From a technical standpoint, Jose's dance was one of his strongest. It had been months since he danced it, but that didn't mean he had forgotten the ebb and flow of the steps. He stood before the stunned line girl and waited, loosing his muscles, as the fire flooded his veins, a feeling that always rushed him when he was about to dance.

It hit him all at once, a crack of thunder that split the silence in his mind and pushed all the way to the very edges of his senses, throwing everything else back. In that moment, he was only a dancer and nothing else mattered. Not this city, not this audition, not Cumore.

Yuri was one with each movement, letting the music of the scene flow in his brain and lead his body in all the proper directions. The moody and sensual piece was much more contained than Siegfried, less leaps and entrachats, and much more about the quickening steps and pace around this false 'Carmen', the intimacy of the motions, the near misses of the touches. When he caught himself at the halfway point, flowing like fire toward Carmen and then away, begging, pleading, his lungs were burning for breath, but his body was in full awakening. Every sensation and sweep ran like a shower of sparks in his veins. A few steps more, a little more of Jose's dance of longing.

His spin ended on his knees before the trembling dancer, staring down at him with eyes wide, and behind her, trapped in the entrance way of the room was Flynn, a warm light in the sea of dark dancers that had pooled in to watch. Those blue eyes were so bright with admiration and Yuri felt his limbs go as cold and quiet as the grave, the rush leaving him like a drought. That look had inspired him before. And now it hurt.

Cumore was ready with a sneer to distract him.

"I expected Odile." Of course Cumore would have. It was the dance that got Yuri into school. "But your Jose was just as stiff and ugly. It was about time that someone clipped your wings."

That didn't hurt nearly as much as the look of shock that crossed Flynn's face next.

Almost as quickly, the director was there, looking down at Yuri, looking down _on_ Yuri. He barely had a second to breathe between them.

"I'm afraid that someone of your... talents... would be best suited elsewhere."

Yuri didn't look back. There wasn't any piece of disappointment shredding up his insides. This was fine. He hadn't wanted to be here anyway, and he certainly didn't want to be in the same troupe as his old school rival, who still made his temper flare. He would never be good enough in eyes like those, no matter how hard he tried. He would never be worth anything.

The wet heat coming off the city pavement nearly choked him when he found himself suddenly outside. Fresh air wasn't as much of a relief as he hoped. He tore off his slippers and let his feet settle on the burning hot concrete. It did little to relieve the ache, but it was deeper than this, deeper than the twisting pain on his insides.

"Yuri-" Flynn was behind him, nudging him with the tips of his sneakers. Yuri couldn't face him. He took the shoes though, and blindly slipped them on. "Yuri, I-"

"Can we go back now?"

His own voice sounded like a tremble, like a whimper of defeat, like fear and panic and everything in between.

"Can we go back now?"

He hadn't said it a second time, but the ringing in his ears made it sound that way.

Yuri didn't mean to the hotel. He meant Zaphias. But Flynn couldn't have, and didn't, know that.

Yuri had hardly moved an inch once they returned to the hotel. He had been cold and quiet since his audition. Even the prospect of food hadn't moved him from the bed. He had every right to be upset. What had happened was unlike anything Flynn expected. He had been so hopeful and Yuri had done amazingly. Why hadn't they seen that? Why couldn't they see the passion that drove Yuri? That filled him up like fire when he danced, that made him beautiful and irresistible?

Flynn had witnessed Yuri perform Jose's dance for the third time. It wasn't the same as that first, when he was the the centerpiece of the pas de deux, unmoving as Yuri prostrated himself in that ardent display. The second time was colder, the steps all the same, but the fire of passion had dimmed. And this third time, when he caught a glimpse of Yuri's face while he did his passes around the girl, it was an emotionless mask of white. The steps were perfect, but Yuri was cold and stony.

Rather than try and get Yuri to agree to go out, Flynn had ordered room service. Maybe a little time alone would give Yuri a chance to calm down. This needn't be defeat.

Flynn pulled the desk chair up to the edge of the bed and leaned with his elbows into its softness. The quiet in the room stretching out between them was deafening and Flynn was so tired of feeling useless, or not knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "We'll have better luck tomorrow. We'll find a better troupe. One that will have no problem recognizing your talent."

Yuri was silent and stone still, staring at the ceiling.

He reached across the satin comforter, rumpled from where Yuri lay, and took a gentle hold of Yuri's calf. He worked so hard and his feet probably ached.

"I thought your dance was wonderful." Maybe that didn't mean much coming from Flynn. Maybe the judgment of his peers was weighed much more heavily, but that didn't mean that what Flynn said was wrong or without merit. No doubt that Yuri was taking this as a personal failure, but that was wrong. He hadn't failed. It was Flynn who should have tried harder. Just because that troupe had been the most famous in Slyvarant didn't mean that it was right for Yuri. Any other troupe would have accepted him in a second.

Flynn let his hand trail down the length of Yuri's long legs and cupped his fingers over the consistently bruised and calloused toes at the end of it. They curled a little reflexively against his palm. A foot rub was one of the best non-sexual ways Flynn had of showing his appreciation of Yuri's body, even if the tides usually turned in a more sensual direction once he got started. Maybe Yuri just needed the distraction.

Pressing his thumb into the pad of Yuri's foot, he expected the usual groan and shudder, but the welcome he received was much colder this time.

Yuri pulled away and rolled over, curling up on his side.

"Yuri..."

"I'm tired."

Flynn quickly squashed the uneasiness filling up his stomach. Of course Yuri was tired. He had had a week of practice prior to the long drive here. Flynn had kept him up most of the night before, and they both rose early for auditions today. Although his dance had been short, he put his heart into each superb step and it had been trampled on those who believed themselves better. but it felt like something deeper than that.

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you up in time for dinner." Flynn came around the bed and kissed him on the temple, burying his nose in the darkness of Yuri's silken hair. "I love you."

There was no reply.

When Yuri was still not up to his usual level of energy by the next day, they cut their sightseeing short. Flynn found himself getting annoyed, but chalked it up every time to what Yuri must have deemed a personal failure and he let it go. He couldn't be upset at Yuri about that. They packed up and were back on the road home by early afternoon. There was so much more that Flynn wanted to see, but Yuri had a show forthcoming and rather than strain him, he let it be. With luck, they would soon have all the time they needed to explore the city more intimately.

The drive back to Zaphias seemed so long, the stretch of highway ending in a black dot against the horizon. He hadn't known that traveling could make him so weary, especially when Yuri wasn't being very active.

It was a lie to say that returning home to Zaphias wasn't something of a relief. He was glad to be out of the car, and Yuri seemed a little better for it as well. At least his appetite was back.

The kitchen of Flynn's apartment smelled perpetually of Yuri's cooking, warm and spicy, the air thick with it. Flynn was accustomed to it after all these months, but it still filled him with a longing and a fire that was hard to contain. He like to watch Yuri cook, whether it be from the counter beside him or dining table where he was usually relegated. So long as he didn't make himself a nuisance, he didn't get yelled at. Maybe he was being a little of one right now.

His fingers wound in the strings of Yuri's apron, tugging gently and threatening to pull the knot loose. His other hand crept up Yuri's back, kneading with the tips of his fingers the flesh there. The length of Yuri's pale neck beneath his lips was warm and feathered with the edges of his hair, drawn back in a ponytail. Yuri seemed impervious to Flynn's attempts, his attention squarely on the hot pan before him.

"I love you," Flynn groaned against Yuri's neck.

"If you want dinner, you'll back up."

"I love you."

"Get off of me." Yuri tried to shrug him off, but Flynn held firm.

He wanted to hear it, those three words that Yuri never uttered, three simple, earth shattering words, but he knew that Yuri wouldn't. It was foolish to hope, but Flynn did anyway.

Flynn had first said those words in front of a packed stadium, screaming it into the stands that so that Yuri could hear. He had made an effort to say it everyday since, but Yuri had never once responded that way Flynn wished he would. Was it too much to hope for? Too much to want to hear the words that expressed his feelings returned?

He wasn't sure _why_ Yuri never said them, and Yuri being Yuri, never felt the need to offer up an explanation.

When Flynn wouldn't budge, Yuri slung the pan onto a different burner and turned in his arms. "Fine. We can skip dinner. I wasn't very hungry anyway."

Yuri's mouth latched onto Flynn's making further words impossible as they stumbled into the living room and Flynn fell back onto the sofa.

Yuri had no words. He had actions, strong and sweet and ravenous, motions of quivering flesh and sounds of fiery pleasure, but no words. He was strength and fire and radiance and savagery and Flynn wanted all of it. He wanted it, greedy for it, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried, there were places in Yuri he couldn't reach, even with all of his own strength. Those places were dark places where Yuri's own fire and radiance didn't even light, places Flynn would never see, never feel, never experience. But the tingling of them was still there, taunting and tantalizing him, but they were kept far, safely locked back by Yuri and Flynn had no key and no combination. Only Yuri could open that door and he wouldn't.

His body ached for Yuri's touch, for the feel of him, for tongue and teeth and so much more. Yuri always burned with the fire of passion, and unquenchable flame that drove him. The heat of those flames was too hot to bear, but Flynn couldn't let go.

Yuri slumped against him, thighs quaking, voicing fading out of the moan that saw him completed, fire wrapped in flesh there in Flynn's lap. He was shivering, shaking as ecstasy was leaving him, his arms sagging against Flynn's shoulders as he threaded his fingers across Flynn's scalp. Flynn could only sit there, sinking into the sofa beneath Yuri's weight, basking in the afterglow of Yuri's radiant flame, a heat that passed between their skins, a warmth that faded from his eyes but lingered in his lips and limbs as they covered Flynn. He nuzzled beneath Yuri's jaw, the warm thump of a calming heart beat against his cheek. Yuri was beautiful and Flynn was enraptured.

"I love you."

Almost as soon as those three words passed his lips, Yuri tensed, pulling back as if repulsed.

"Stop saying that." He was up, padding away toward the bedroom.

"Yuri." Flynn wretched himself from the softness of the couch to follow.

He was stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, pale fingers digging into the frame. He wasn't moving.

"What's the problem with you lately?" Flynn's tone wavered and rose. It wasn't just this incident wearing on him. Yuri had been sulking their whole trip to Slyvarant. Every time Flynn said those words, the three words that he longed to have returned, Yuri flinched like he was disgusted.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then why are you acting like this?"

"I'm not _acting_ like anything!"

"Then what the hell is wrong?!" Flynn curled his fingers around Yuri's shoulder, whipping him around to look him in the eye.

Those eyes flashed like summer thunderheads and he pulled away.

"Yuri, I don't understand." He let his voice ease back down to his normal tone. He was only concerned and only wanted the truth. He wanted Yuri to be open and honest with him, to stop hiding, to let Flynn in. "Please."

"Leave me alone."

"Why can't you just say it?"

"Because words don't mean anything."

Why did that sting so much, so deep that it ached against Flynn's spine? Why did that door slamming in his face make him angry enough to rip it off its hinges? Why didn't Yuri see? Why didn't Yuri understand? And why didn't Flynn have the words?

The door that barred him out made it very clear that Yuri was in no mood to talk and Flynn was in no mood to deal with him. If he was going to be a temperamental child about this, if he was going to hold it all in and keep it to himself, then fine. He could. That didn't stop Flynn from punching the door and the sound of the shower starting up didn't stop Yuri from hearing it.

The bed was cold, but he curled up in it anyway. If Yuri wanted to talk, he would be here, but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

The spray of the icy cold shower didn't drown out Flynn's pounding on the door. Anger had turned his skin so hot that the thought it would melt right off, but the shower kept him whole, kept him from falling into pieces and washing down the drain. He wished that he could have. He'd have some escape rather than walking out that door and past Flynn, waiting for his explanation on the cause of their argument. Waiting for those words, those words that Flynn wanted and those words that Yuri couldn't say. He didn't have the ability and Flynn didn't understand. There was no way that he could. There was no way he could ever understand why those words were impossible for Yuri.

Hesitantly, Yuri cut the shower off, turning the knob so that the water slowed to a trickle. He listened for the slightest sound beyond the bathroom door, but there was nothing. He wasn't sure how long it had been, how long he had been hiding here, how long that he thought he could stay here. He didn't belong here. He never belonged here. He was a fool to think any differently.

It was silent in the apartment, a long, stark, black silence that filled every corner only abbreviated by the rustle of the shower curtain and his footsteps padding sopping wet across the linoleum. He paused at the door. There was still that inescapable silence.

Flynn was asleep in bed, snoring softly in a world far from here, a world where Yuri didn't belong, where Yuri would never belong.

He dressed. It was too oppressive here. He couldn't stay. He had stayed too long already. This was for the best. This was what was right. Flynn would have to understand. Yuri couldn't say those words. He never could.

There was only one thing left, one thing still binding him here, still giving him pass to enter this place, to be a part of Flynn's life, and it was in his hand. The cheap brass shone like gold in the single street light that filtered in the window. He knew its sharp edges intimately, its weight in his hand, the sound it made as it scraped through the lock that was its match. This was too heavy for him to bear. This was it, this was the end.

No matter how gently he set the key down on the nightstand, it still sounded like a thunderclap in his ears, a flooding swell that fill up his insides and stung at his eyes. He forced himself a step back, and then another. It was too late to turn back now.

"Good bye, Flynn."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: And part 3 rounds out this set. Tomorrow the Encore will go up to finish out the series.

* * *

 _Don't make me wait forever._ Yuri rolled to face the back of the sofa, pressing his head into it. _I hope you haven't been waiting long._ But Yuri had always been waiting. He had never stopped waiting. This was better. This was for the best. Maybe he could just let go and _stop_. He couldn't handle this anymore. It was too painful, too heavy for him to bear. _Wait for me._

"No."

* * *

He thought a few days would ease the ache. It didn't. They're relationship hadn't gone on that long. Not even a year and already the squeezing of that thorny vine around his heart was inescapable. No amount of practice or time at the gym or sleep gave him even a moment's reprieve. This was disgusting. This was disheartening. This was unfair. And all because Flynn had used those three words, those three words that threatened to tear him open and lay him bare, those three words that burned and ached and cut and shredded him again and again. He could hear them even now, above the blood pounding in his ears, above the screech of the music. It had already been days. Why did this still haunt him? Why were those blue eyes still too bright, too radiant to even imagine? Why did this hurt so much?

Nothing helped, so he tried even harder between work and sleep, drove himself further. He had to have been nearly mastered the part of Hades about now. Hades, who dragged pure and radiant Cora down into hell and changed her.

Avoiding Flynn's texts and calls had been hard to do. It had been reflexive to answer and he had to force himself to put the phone down or ignore it each time. They came panicked at first, worried and angry and sorry voice mails filling up his inbox, but they thankfully slowed as the days passed. Yuri had to avoid the places they frequented together at the risk of catching Flynn there. He hadn't even been to Tolbyccia Pizza. Flynn would have looked for him there, and if he wasn't there actively, he would have left word with Don. Yuri was surprised that he hadn't bothered coming by the studio. Either way, Flynn would eventually give up and move on. The longer he waited, the more painful he made it for himself. If he was smart, he would get the hint and be gone before Yuri had a chance to second guess himself.

"Yuri, are you all right?"

Estelle's voice snapped his consciousness back as he lowered her from a lift.

She took a step back, one hand still firmly on his upper arm and her green eyes fixed on his face in concern. "You don't look so well."

"I'm fine." He didn't shrug her off. She would have been suspicious.

"Why don't we take a break? You look tired."

"I said I'm fine." The crack in his voice was going to give him away, but he maintained eye contact with her. "We don't have a lot of time. The show opens the day after tomorrow."

"It'll just be a short break. You've practiced hard enough." She didn't allow him to argue, instead pulling him behind her.

They changed and she led him to a quaint tea room a block away from the studio. They came here together occasionally, and he knew that she frequented this place with Rita. This was a place where Flynn would not bother to come looking. They were seated by a window and were presented with a tray of quartered sandwiches and squares of cake and a pot of tea.

It was very quiet for a few moments while Estelle poured them each a cup. She was waiting, biding her time before speaking. He could see it in her eyes. She had something that she was burning to say, and the moment it came out, he wished that he had misheard.

"So, Flynn called me the other day."

"Can we not?"

"Yuri, please. He's worried about you. _I'm_ worried about you. Things haven't been the same since he was scouted for that major league team." She paused and waiting for a response that didn't come. "This is about Slyvarant, isn't it?"

He wanted to lie, but the truth came out instead. "Something like that."

"What-"

"Please, believe me when I say I only want the best for him."

"But what about you? Are you really all right with this?"

"It's better this way. I have no intention of standing between Flynn and his dream."

"And if you're a part of that dream?"

"Then Flynn's a bigger idiot than I thought."

* * *

He had been shocked at first by the key left on the nightstand beside his bed, but that quickly faded into anger. He had thrown it at some point and where it was now didn't matter. As the days between that night wore on, it started to.

Flynn hadn't looked for the key, but he had looked for Yuri. He had made every attempt to contact him beyond showing up at the studio where Yuri worked. He looked for Yuri at the gym and at restaurants they frequented. He was no where to be seen. Flynn had made no small effort to contact him via phone, but all of his texts and calls went unanswered. He could only rely on Estelle now, who had offered to speak with Yuri. He wasn't sure what good that would do, but maybe something would come of it. As it was, things were looking bleak.

Flynn still had no idea what set Yuri off in the first place. He had been open and honest and thought things were going so well until Yuri flinched back at the sound of these words and slammed the door in his face.

 _I love you._

What was wrong with that? Why did Yuri seem to dislike that phrase so strongly? Flynn said it because it was true and he wanted Yuri to know that.

 _Those words don't mean anything_.

How could he say that when he had to have known that Flynn meant it? He wouldn't have said it otherwise.

If he was going to be like this, Flynn had to put his plans on hold. He _wanted_ to go to Slyvarant with Yuri to make a home for them there, but he had never thought that maybe Yuri didn't want that, that he didn't want that degree of seriousness to their relationship.

He jumped when the phone rang, scurrying to answer it. Chest swelling with hope, he didn't even bother to check to see who the caller was.

"Hello?" He croaked.

"Hi, Flynn. It's me."

He sunk back at the sound of Estelle's voice. It could be a hopeful prospect, though.

"How are you?"

"Fine. I just finished talking to Yuri."

More hope.

"Did he-" He broke himself off.

"He wouldn't say much, but he seems very... listless. He's really upset, but he didn't elaborate. He did say that he wasn't going to stand in your way."

The hope that swelled in him turned into a surge of fire, searing his bones and organs as it crept up through him.

"Is he still at the studio?"

"No. I think he went home."

"Thanks, Estelle."

If Yuri went home, that's where Flynn was going. They needed to talk. Flynn had a lot to say and it was going to be heard.

* * *

Flynn could barely keep still during the drive to Yuri's apartment. Not stomping his way up the stairs or slamming the doors as he went was just difficult. Cross town traffic had been light and it had only taken him minutes to get here, but those minutes hadn't helped to quenched the fire of anger that was burning up his insides.

 _What the hell is Yuri's problem? Not going to stand in my way?! What does he mean by that?_

He rounded out of the stairwell onto the sixth floor, feet moving from concrete to decades old and threadbare carpet. The walk hadn't done much good either. Hot in his stomach, he was ready for the argument that he knew was coming. He wanted the argument. It would force Yuri to bring out the truth, to lay bare his faulty reasoning and his problems and his feelings. Or it would send him further into hiding. The former was what Flynn wanted. He just wanted the truth, and this was going to be the way to get it out of Yuri. If they could have sat and talked about it calmly, he would have preferred that, but Yuri's words in the heat of the moment were the most potent, the most powerful, and the truest.

Yuri's door was just down the hall, and it was open, a figure standing in the doorway with his hand on the knob. He was smiling and laughing, face a little reddened. Flynn had no doubt about who is was. The question was: what was Hachette doing here?

Hachette must have heard Flynn approach, because he whipped his head around to look at him, eyes bright with surprise.

"Well, uh, I better get going!" He stammered and took off like a shot past Flynn and was out the stairwell door before the question of his presence could be voiced.

Yuri had almost finished shutting the door before Flynn turned back and pressed himself into the door frame, wedging an elbow in to keep from being barred out.

"What?" Yuri asked, the sliver of face revealed through the door turned up at him, but his eye shifted away. It was obvious that he had seen Flynn, and was attempting to avoid him.

"Can we talk?" He tried so hard to sound calm.

"About what?"

"You know exactly what!" There went that idea.

Yuri was silent for a long moment before letting his hand fall from the interior knob on the door and the pressure he was using to keep it mostly closed backed away. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

Flynn entered and Yuri's apartment felt like never before. It was cold and quiet and barren and lonely, and all of those things eroded away the anger eating away at him. Maybe proceeding calmly would be best. Maybe Yuri could be reasonable for once and just open up, just a little, just enough so that Flynn could understand, so that they could both understand.

"You haven't been returning my messages."

Yuri shrugged and padded into the kitchen, his back turned to Flynn as he picked up the pair of coffee cups sitting on the counter.

"I've been worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because we haven't spoken in days. I haven't seen or heard from you. What else am I supposed to do but worry?"

"Move on."

Flynn strode in behind him, fingers finding the edge of the counter so that he wouldn't curl them into anger filled fists. "So, this is about Slyvarant."

"What gave you that idea?"

He bit back his frustration with Yuri's behavior, with the silence and the avoidance, with the trip to Slyvarant, with everything. But then he realized that he had come with the intention of laying himself bare and hoping that Yuri would as well, and Yuri would be honest and just _tell_ him. So rather than letting it rolling around in him any longer, ricocheting like a bullet through his flesh and tearing up his innards, he let it burst out of him in a breath of fire and words of heavy stone.

"I hate when you do this!" He said with scathing honesty. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?! Why can't you just tell me how you feel?!"

Yuri's hands were curled against the counter, a grip strong enough to crush bone, but he didn't turn to Flynn and he said nothing.

"I _love_ you! Why is so horrible?! Does it disgust you?! Just tell me!" His eyes were starting to sting, burning hot and wet with salt.

"I can never be someone who can say those words to you." Yuri's voice was calm and even, almost toneless, so strange that the pounding of Flynn's pulse in his own ears almost drowned it out.

"Yuri-"

"I'm not going to Slyvarant."

"At least tell me why!"

"Get out."

It was so cold and definite and Flynn hated himself for following that order and storming toward the door. He threw it open and stopped just short of crossing the threshold in order to look back. There was still so much he wanted to say, that he needed to say, that he needed and wanted to hear.

"Are you just going to go on shutting people out forever? Are you going to shut _me_ out forever?"

"I can't wait anymore."

Flynn slammed the door hard enough to shake the frame and the heaviness of his steps made it feel like the floor was shivering. But he was the one who was shivering, rage bubbling over and pouring out of him in every little action. It built and built and he descended the stairs, and when he could no longer hold it back, to keep himself complacent and tame, a wall was there to feel the outpouring of his fury. Burying his knuckles into brick and grout pulled the overflowing anger away and the adrenaline that replaced it dulled the pain of his bruised and bloodied knuckles. Hockey had given him injuries far worse than these scrapes, but nothing hurt him like Yuri did.

* * *

Estelle had given him the ticket to the Halure Dance Troupe's latest production, but even another two days after their argument, Flynn wasn't sure that he even wanted to bother going. Yuri apparently couldn't bother with him. Why should the reverse be true? He went anyway, even though the ache in his hand had faded long before the ache in his chest.

There wasn't much left for him. The prospects of Slyvarant were looking better and better and he was closer to simply leaving Zaphias behind. He had already gotten his call back from the manager of the Rhyards. It had come only moments after his fight with Yuri. The favorable response to his tryout was the only thing that kept him from falling apart. They wanted him back. They wanted him to sign. They wanted him and Yuri didn't. It wasn't worth it to stay.

It was going to be hard to say goodbye to the team that had accepted him, who had supported him, who had become his family. It was going to be hard to just leave this behind, but Flynn had left one city behind him before, and he could do the same with Zaphias, just on better terms.

The curtains rose and pulled his eyes back to the stage with Rita in the seat beside him as always. Flynn watched as the nymphs in their filmy dresses began moving in lithe and long and willowy circles, around Estelle. Flowers wreathed her head and she was innocent and maidenly, Kora before Persephone. She joined their dance, light and playful, and she ringed the stage with them. She was carefree and lovely, a child of the field, a goddess of spring born of her mother earth.

Their dance halted as a roll of thunder cascaded over the stage, and all but Kora scattered. She held fast, fixed there under the spotlight. The thunder shuddered again, and she spun, putting her back to the audience. Behind her, a sheet of glass cut off the back of the stage and the spotlight flashed over it briefly with the crash of thunder. Through the glass was a silhouette, a tall man clad in robes of tattered darkness, Yuri as Hades. In an instant, she was there at the glass, hand pressed against its surface, watching and calm. Hades took a step back from the divider, apprehensive, but Kora pressed closer.

When he did not budge, she began to dance once more, spinning in her heart's display for him. He still did not move. Kora's dance became slower, softer, sadder. She was pleading, but he held fast.

With a flick of her wrist, the glass that divided them slid away, and the stage lights dimmed purple. She had entered the underworld, and with it, took the hand of Hades, pulling him to the center of the stage. With her grace and confidence, his apprehensions melted away and the pas de deux they shared was tender. As he dropped her from the final lift, back onto her graceful feet, he pulled something from his robe, bright red, offering it to her. With a steady hand, she reached to take the half of a pomegranate. The curtains dropped suddenly and the stage readied for act two.

Act two rose on a woman in green and gold as Demeter, walking the field were her daughter once was. With each step, her search became more frantic until she came upon the nymphs, who withered at her fury once they explained with a short dance what had happened. Upon Mt. Olympus, she found Zeus, the king of the gods, and her outrage no less fiery, demanded that he do something, that he bring her daughter back. She threatened with the sharpness of her movements the consequences of Hades's actions, of what sort of fate may befall the world if she did not get her daughter back. Finally, Zeus relented and with a wave to Hermes, sent him to fetch the missing Kora from the clutches of the underworld. Act two ended with a short burst of music from the orchestra as the stage lights faded and the intermission was announced by a much softer, pre-recorded musical accompaniment. But Flynn didn't move, and neither did Rita.

"Hm. Estelle told me that the director of the troupe liked to change things, but I hadn't realized before just how much," Rita mused to herself, flipping through a small book a she produced from her purse.

"What do you mean?" Flynn asked, his head still spinning slightly from the glare of the spotlights and the slow of the music from its frenzy.

"Of course, you wouldn't know about mythology." She sighed as if what she was discussing should have been common knowledge, but she continued as if she was humoring him. "This ballet is based off of the story of Persephone, who was supposed to have been _abducted_ by Hades in order to be his bride and tricked into eating the food of the underworld in order to stay there."

"But what's not what happened."

"No. Rather, we see a Kora with full agency, who enters the Underworld of her own free will and accepts the pomegranate, seeming to know full well what it will do to her." She handed him the book, and allowed him to read the brief story recorded there: the story of Persephone as it was originally written.

While he read, she continued with her lecture. "We see a Hades who is not the transgressor here, but rather seems reluctant to bring about the ruin of Kora. It's definitely different."

"Wait, didn't they make a similar change to Swan Lake?"

"Yes. Rather than Odile being a one dimensional character as Rothbart's evil daughter, she became something more of a tragic heroine who perhaps even loved the prince that she was fated to doom. And yet, she saved them."

"So Hades-"

A rapid switch in the music silenced him as act three started with Hermes in the Underworld, begging for Kora, now Persephone, a goddess robed in darkness as her husband with the fruit of her fate sitting her lap, to return to the world above and her distraught mother. But she turned him away.

Demeter herself came next, still filled with righteous fury over the disappearance of her beloved daughter. Her dance was power and rage, as hot as the summer sun, but Persephone was unmoved, as cold as the winter that covered the earth in her absence. As Demeter's dance wore on, the power was lost, dwindling away as the fall until she was nearly begging on her knees for her daughter's return, for her daughter to come home with her once more. But Persephone was no longer Kora. The Underworld had changed the goddess of spring into a icy goddess of winter. Still Demeter pleaded, and still it was no good. Her rage burst forth again, this time upon Hades, who she surely blamed but Persephone put herself between them. With a motion of swiftness and confidence, she cast the pomegranate at her mother's feet and watched her wither into a sobbing mass on the stage.

Persephone turned into her husband's arms and he held her but a moment before pulling away. With his own dance, he pleaded with her in much the same way. There were no words, but Flynn knew what he was saying: return to the world of the living, be with your mother, leave me here alone, and forget that this ever happened. With each step, he portrayed his love for her and he only wanted her happiness and what was best for her. When he stopped, she was there just like before, but she leaned her head against his shoulder and parted from him a second later, her step unsteady for the first time in the entire performance.

Hades did not watch his wife go, her hand slipping from his as she passed through the barrier of glass to the world of the living, cradled safely in the warm arms of her mother. Flynn's throat tightened, hard with something inexplicably sad, but he kept his eyes fixed on the stage, on the spot where Yuri stood, his back to the glass. Even as the background layer of curtains fell, he did not dare budge.

Act three ended with Flynn's lungs burning for a breath that he didn't dare take, his hands quivering on the arms of his seat. The curtain rose on act four and he still didn't move. Kora in a soft pink began her dance with the nymphs once more, Demeter watching from one side. With each spin, the lights on the stage changed, darkening the color of her gown to the full green of summer at the height of her dance, and as it started to wind down, a orange-brown of the fall. The nymphs wilted away as the fall lights came and her dance of the seasons calmed. Finally, the back curtains rose across the glass once more, showing a glimpse of the blue-lit Underworld, and Hades, who had waited there unmoving, his back still to the divider that separate the living from the dead. Her dance brought her close, and then cast the glass partition away as she entered the realm of the underworld.

Her dress was dark now, the robes of darkness that she was clad in as the Queen of the Underworld, and had but one course of action. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his back before he could even turn to face her. Another tender pas de deux followed and the curtain fell on her in his arms once more.

And now, Flynn needed to see Yuri, so desperately, with every fiber of his being clamoring for it. The theater emptied after the standing ovation and Flynn left to find him. He didn't dare go backstage again. They needed neutral ground to talk on and get some things out in the open. Both of them. He could only hope that Yuri was up for talking, because Flynn wanted to listen and wanted to be heard in turn.

* * *

Yuri always shrugged off the opening party that the rest of the cast seem to relish and Flynn knew that if he waited long enough, he would come along the sidewalk in front of the theater on his way either home or to the gym to unwind. Catching him in a good mood was going to be much harder to accomplish than simply finding him.

He came out of the side entrance, obviously hoping to dodge the rest of the cast as they lingered away to a nearby party spot, but he wasn't going to dodge Flynn. The way those charcoal eyes darted up at him, calm and tired, told Flynn that he knew that he was being waited for. He didn't try to run away or argue the point immediately. He stood there calmly beside Flynn on the sidewalk, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie and the strap of his duffle bag hoisted high on one shoulder.

"Can we talk?" Flynn asked quietly through the cool night air and waited.

"Sure." That simple word was a relief. "But let's not do it here."

With a nod, Yuri led on a long ways down the street, silent and calm, his steps sure and poised and even. If something was still bothering him, he wasn't letting on. Rather, he seemed collected and resigned, but Flynn followed in silence and bided his time. He had no idea that Yuri was leading him directly to the municipal ice rink until they got there and walked right in.

"Yuri..."

"Come on. Don't want to be late."

"Late for what?"

They rounded through the hall of rising platforms into the stands, and just beyond, the rink, its icy surface layered with carpet, a few tables laden with food and decorated with colorful balloons, and a cluster of people waiting there.

With a cheer, the team greeted him, swarming him and pulling him into the rink. Their words at him so numerous that he couldn't say anything between them and had to wait before he could even question all of this. They hugged him and pushed him playfully around, and cheered further, but Yuri kept his distance, pressed back against the wall, pretending not to watch.

"Congrats, man!"

"Always knew you'd be headed for the big leagues!"

"The Rhyards are a great team."

"Wait." He finally stopped, and finally got them to stop long enough for him to breath. "What's all this?"

LeBlanc slapped his massive hand against Flynn's back. "Your going away party. What? You didn't think we'd bother giving you one?"

"We're so proud of you," Hachette added, and then behind his hand. "Yuri won't say so, but he helped plan all this."

The warmth welling up in his chest pushed back all the doubt, all the fear and worry, and left him with only one choice. There was only place that he belonged and it wasn't Slyvarant. Other offers would come and go, other teams and people would come and go, but this -this- was his family and he was an idiot to ever doubt that.

"I'm sorry, everyone." He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going."

"What?" a collective cry rose up. Even Yuri's voice came through as a surprised whisper.

"But this is your big chance!"

"I know. I know. But, I just can't. I don't belong there. I belong here." He tried to smile, but his eyes stung and he rubbed at them with the cuff of his sleeve. "I've thought it through, and there's no where I'd rather be than here. With all of you."

* * *

That moron. Yuri bit his tongue to keep from lashing out. He was finally letting and go and then Flynn had to go and pull this stunt, to say that 'surprise I'm not really leaving even though I've made every intention to up to this point'. He was letting go and Flynn had to change his mind, to decided to throw away his dreams. And for what? To stay with this hopeless team in this hopeless and directionless city? What was the point in that? What was the point in holding himself back?

Yuri watched quietly from the stands as the team celebrated, not Flynn's going away, but his decision to stay. An idiotic decision. It wasn't Yuri's to make, though. If it had been, Flynn would have been long gone, off to Slyvarant to pursue his dreams. What was keeping him here?

After the festivities ebbed and the hockey team started their clean up of the cake they had to rewrite on and the various other decorations, Flynn made his way up to the stands. It was a conversation that Yuri had been dreading, but he knew that it was going to happen one way or another. This situation didn't make it better. It would have been better if Flynn was leaving. This would have been the closure he wanted, but all it would do now is a open a million other doors full of surprises and bad memories and lay parts of Yuri bare that he hated with all the fire within him. But it was too late now.

"Can we talk?" He asked again.

"What about?"

"You know what about." His voice didn't raise in the slightest. This would have been easier if he weren't being so fucking calm about it. "I love you. What's wrong with that?"

"I hate those words."

"Why?"

Yuri hunkered down and tried to find all the words he was going to need before he spoke, to try and let the resolve that he needed so desperately build up. He folded his arms across his legs and looked out over the ice, careful to keep even a sideways glance off of Flynn.

"Because every time I've ever heard them, they were meaningless. They were lies."

Flynn didn't question, but waited in silence for Yuri to continue and he did.

"When I was eight, my mother left me with some relatives. She promised it was only for a week until she found us a new place to live. 'Just a little while, I promise.' 'Please wait for me. I love you'. A week went by and she didn't come back. She never came back. Every few weeks, I would get a postcard or a call from her. 'Be good, Yuri. Wait for me. I love you.'.

I didn't see her for years and I was bumped from relative to relative, but no matter where I went, I got the calls or the cards, although they dwindled to the occasional. 'I love you'. And I believed it. For years, I believed that she was just struggling to find a place where we could live, where we could be together again. I never stopped waiting for her to come back for me. I couldn't. She was my mother. She loved me. She wouldn't just abandon me." Yuri held back a moment, the anger and pain of those seemingly endless years threatening to overwhelm him. That was so long ago. He didn't want to be talking about his own life. If it were the life of someone else, it would be easier. But the truth is never easy and never clean and never painless.

"I finally saw her again my first year of college. I hadn't even realized then, but she had no trouble setting the record straight. Her voice was like a knife. It had never sounded so cold before.

'Your own father didn't love you. Why would I? I was just sick of taking care of you.'" He forced back the wave threatening to sink him, to drown him in this. He swallowed it down. "You were a mistake. I never loved you.'"

"Yuri." Flynn said softly from beside him and tentatively found Yuri's hand stuffed beneath his elbow.

"I will never be someone who can say those words to you. To me, those words are meaningless." But they weren't meaningless.

"I'm sorry." Coming from Flynn, that was a surprised that caused him to turn and lock eyes with the blond. "I never knew. But it was my fault. I never really thought about how _you_ were feeling. I was so wrapped up in going to Slyvarant that I never took the time to ask what you wanted."

Yuri laughed, but it was cold. "You shouldn't have bothered. You shouldn't have looked back. You should have gone."

"But I didn't. And I'm not going to. Not until we're both ready."

"Do you realize what you're saying?" What he was saying was stupid. There was no reason for Flynn to put his whole life on hold simply because Yuri was damaged goods who couldn't cope with this emotional mess that they were in. "It would just be easier for you to move on."

He entwined their fingers. "No, I don't think so. I thought that once, but I was wrong."

"You're being stupid."

"Maybe I am."

"You might not get a second chance like this."

"I will never feel for someone else what I feel for you."

He felt his face flush. It was simply the chill of the ice creeping into this skin.

"You're not going to ruin me. So what if you can't say that? I can learn to live with that."

"Can you really? Can you really just leave it at that?"

"Will you stay with me?" Flynn asked. "Whether or not you believe it, I love you and I mean it. I don't want to lose you."

He choked it down, choked it back. There was no reason that his eyes were getting misty or his mouth running bone dry. There was no reason for him to be shaking so hard or to feel so wound up with sickness burning in his chest. There was no reason for him to be getting worked up about this. He was supposed to be letting go.

"I guess... I don't have to wait anymore."


End file.
